The Fantasy In Your Music & My Words
by KekiliFury
Summary: Gemma Romano has a future within the world of Literature. But, when she is asked to work at the Opera Populaire, her dreams within a world of music start to unfold all because of her Maestro. Can her words and his music bring them together... forever?
1. Prolouge

_But how can I trust this malicious word  
When his eyes sparkle life from inside?  
What if his story is simply misheard  
And his song thus forever confined?_

_The touch of his lips - both sincere and divine  
How could I neglect a soul... in union with mine?_

_Some of you may recall of the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera._

_It was the year of 1870 when things started to go wrong at the Opera Populaire. Christine Daae was one of the best singers. Her Maestro, a man in a mask. Her Angel of Music she called him. The rest knew him as the Phantom of the Opera. For as long as he could remember, he had lived there ever since Madame Giry had taken him in when he was young. So, he was destined to wander the underground catacombs of the Opera Populaire. He became an architect, composer, musician, singer, magician. But, nobody had known. As for Christine Daae, she was becoming the newest opera diva. The Phantom had loved her. She loved someone else: Raoul de Chagny; The Vicomte. She denied and betrayed the Phantom and fled with the Vicomte in the end. In all his madness and despair he lit the opera house on fire leaving it in ashes..._

_A few years had gone by. The Opera Populaire was soon rebuilt and furnished the way it was before. Everyone thankfully was still there according to the managers Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre. Christine Daae though was gone and so was her lover. They had fled to somewhere else. Far, far away. _

_As for the Phantom. He still remains. Unknowingly to everyone else. Until..._

_She came._


	2. A New World, A New Life

Chapter 1 (A New World, A New Life) The Fantasy in your music & my words

The night was cold even without the wind. I had wondered for the time being, what the water must have felt like underneath the surface. My mind was wandering from place to place in my memories. It all came back to me when the small ship crashed into a wave, not so gently. The ship was not going fast at all and I was growing impatient from excitement which led me back to my thoughts.

'What is this French world like?

I'm glad I learned a little of the language.

Will they like me? Where will I find work?'

My name is Gemma Romano. I was a poet of the sorts. Shakespeare inspired me and I was determined, motivated and I had hoped to come into France from America so that I could become a famous poet or author. My family did not want this of me at all. Luckily, when I had turned eighteen they let me leave and live by myself somewhere until I was able to come up with a plan to go across the sea. I wanted to see different places instead of the plain white mansion and lush gardens of my Italian home there in America. My family had moved there years ago when I was young and had dreams of coming back to the world where I belonged. I desired a new scenery, new smells. I brushed my curly brown hair back from my face and opened up my little black book of poetry I carried with me everywhere. I wrote...

A ray of light

Sparkles in the sea.

The stars are crammed tight

In a midnight fantasy.

Like I had said, my excitement was too much to bear. We were crossing the English Channel now so I knew we were close. I could not think straight. A gust of wind rushed through the deck. Goose bumps ran up my arms, my legs, my body. Not from the cold, but from a voice I heard within the wind. It was a man's voice, one that was saddened by heartbreak and loss. I looked to see where it had come from but nobody was there except the sleeping crew and stowaways. My searching had led my eyes to what was straight-

"Land Ahoy!" The captain rang. The crew from underneath scampered up the stairs and took control of their places. I stood up and leaned over the rail clutching onto my black book. It was a beautiful sight. A smile spread across my face as I saw the lighthouse in the harbor and the many candle lights and chandeliers lit in the homes of the new world in which I would now live. My eyes slowly adjusted to the scenery as we docked. I picked up my little duffle bag, climbed out the ship and onto the streets of France. I caught a carriage going by and seeing as I was high class with money and also because I was a young lady by myself the driver stopped and gave me a ride.

"Where to Mademoiselle?" he asked plainly.

I smiled a bit and replied, "Paris." He nodded and we were on our way.

Days later I arrived in Paris. As I started walking I noticed how the night was slowly breaking and the sky started to turn periwinkle from the sun. My eyes stung from the lack of sleep, and my muscles ached from walking. I didn't care, I wanted to see more of Paris, but I had to find a place to stay. I walked some more miles down a long road until I came into the opening of a little square. I was walking forward when I stopped in front of a huge building with painted posters in the front. I made out two big words: "La Carlotta." That's when it hit me. My bag dropped to the floor and my eyes grew wide. "Opera Populaire," I whispered to myself.

My sister, whom is a year older than I, had met a new friend from our little town back in the America. She had once been a ballerina and a chorus girl until they had asked her to sing as the lead role in one of their operas. Her name was Christine Daae. She was the same age as my sister, and was married to Phillipe Vicomte de Chagny. She was a beautiful woman with hair like mine and a voice from Heaven. Her mind would always seem to wander off when I called her an angel of song. That's when she told me a story about an Angel of Music. He sang to her when she would sleep and he came in her dreams. She told me about how he taught her to sing and how she had a love for him and how much he had loved her. But, he lived in a labyrinth where the darkness overpowers all that is good. He is a man in a mask. She said they had called him the Phantom of the Opera.

I was in awe at the sight of the building. It was growing dark though so I looked around for a place near it to stay and found a small inn. I paid for my room in franks and told them I would like to live there for a while, they accepted for a monthly fee. They gave me a top floor in which I had a frontal view of the Opera Populaire. The room was big enough for two people. The bed was covered in white sheets and the drapes on the balcony were a maroon. Out onto the balcony were two chairs and a small wooden table in between. The dressers, night stands and wardrobe were all of oak-wooded furniture. I dropped my bag on to the floor and slipped off my shoes. I saw the sun start to come to a pale morning sky and the birds sang me to sleep.

My last thoughts were unintended with that of this man behind his mask. The Opera Populaire should have been rid of him when he torched the place down three years ago. But, somehow in some way... I felt otherwise.

UNDERNEATH THE OPERA POPULAIRE:

"These violent delights have violent ends in which their triumph die," were the last few words that I had read in a black leather covered book I had on a shelf. It was one of the many books in which I have never thought to read. It was a poetry book. Depressing, sad, and loving as the words in each poem were they inspired my music a great deal. I got up and put the book away.

I sighed as I turned around to the red satin covered bed in which she had laid in, slept in. The black wardrobe and jewelry box on the side were still left untouched. I turned back around to the mirror. My heart was heavy with sadness and remorse. Remorse was something I was not used to feeling, but it started sooner than I had expected and still could not find the reason why it happened. A man was in the mirror, no a monster was there!

A mask just about covered the damned spot in which I was born with. I looked away ashamed of myself. My thoughts ran back to the day the Opera house burned. I had done it! I had cut the rope to the chandelier that hung from it. I had tried to steal Christine Daae from the world after that. My plans were ruined when the gallant Vicomte de Chagny was there for her rescue. He was there to take her away from me. My only love. After that last kiss... I had to let her go. Now, I believe it was a big mistake in letting her go. I wish for the day she shall return here, so that I may try once more to take her under my wing. For now I live in my own self-pity and anger. For who could ever love a Phantom.


	3. The Work of a Poet

Ch. 2 (The work of a poet)

I had grown tiresome the night before from the long and exhausting journey. I woke up with a headache as the sun hit my bed through the window. I watched the sunlight dance upon the bed sheets. Traffic was noisy through the tiny square. You could hear the carriages as they pulled on by. I walked to the French glass doors of my small room and onto the balcony. I noticed that even during the spring time here in Paris, the climate was warmer during the day and really cold at night. The same thing happened in New York where I had lived. I watched as the carriages pulled up to the opera house. It looked golden in the sunlight. The sun made the statues look newly polished. I admired this place more than any other place I have seen during my lifetime. I sighed and smiled as I watched then I turned around and went back inside to get dressed in what was a light blue dress with a bow in the middle. It was a sleeveless dress which was something for the warmer weather.

I had never really liked the fact that my family was of a rich decent. I never even liked to wear the dresses and make-up either. I preferred the slacks and loose blouses that were so comfortable to any woman. But, here in Paris people were proper. Too proper for my liking, more than I was used to but I knew I would have to get over it one way or another. As a twenty-two year old woman... well at least I was half a woman you might say. I have never wooed nor married. You would never see a woman my age show her legs, at least in public. It was just not proper in many, many cultures.

I dreamt. That's all I had. Like every poet I was a hopeless romantic dreaming of love. I watched it always happen, but it never seemed to catch up to me yet. So for the while, I still lived life and waited. I was nervous to be going out looking for work now. I was hoping to write in local newspapers and hopefully earn enough money to major in some English classes that I have wanted to take. I walked on the worn down roads careful not to trip over any rising bricks. Little shops of every sorts were scattered everywhere from bakeries, to flower shops, restaurants, everything. I finally found my destination. The local newspaper press company was not far from my new, temporary home. The place was called D'une Seule Voix (with one voice). As I walked up to the doors, a note clearly stated that they were closed on Saturdays and Sundays. I figured it was because of family outings and church. Unfortunately, they were not looking for anyone who needs a job either. I rolled my eyes, *Just my luck.*

I peeked inside to window hoping to catch someone closing up but, nobody was there. I started walking away back down the road. There were no openings anywhere that I could see. It felt as though I had gone all through the city of Paris. A few hours later, I finally came back into the square. I looked up at the clock tower which stated 3:00 in the afternoon. I was already losing my hope. I started walking again, going home to rest when I noticed a road that I had not gone down yet. I walked three blocks down that road from my home and I soon stopped in front of a library. I smiled in hope as I walked up to the two, large wooden doors and walked in. The place was of good size and smelt like vanilla candles. Rocking chairs were placed in some areas of the room, tables were in another section and small benches sat in the isle ways between book shelves. There at the front counter was a small, gray- haired lady dressed in a red dress with a brown pouch tied around her waist. She wore big round glasses and her hair was up in a bun.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. How can I be of service?" The old lady asked. Her British accent was warm and welcoming.

"Bonjour, Madame!" I said smiling, "I am Gemma Romano. I am looking for some work. I'm a little new here and... I love books." As we spoke, a young man in his twenties came up to us. He was handsome. His short blonde hair and crystal blue eyes matched his skin complexion. He was dressed in a loose, white shirt and black trousers. His boots showed over his pants. I assumed he was a caretaker of horses. He smiled at me.

"I am Amelie (Amelia) Beaumont. This is my son Peter Beaumont. We do need a lot of help around here considering that there are only two of us," she said.

"Great!" Peter exclaimed in happiness, "Follow me. You can start today." I was surprised that they had taken me in so quickly, but then I figured that they really did actually need desperate help from another pair of hard working hands.

"I know it might not seem like it now but, you'll learn to love this place." Peter looked at me with sparks flying in his eyes as if I seemed to be some prized trophy. Maybe I misunderstood his tone of expression. "Are you a person of literature, Ms. Romano? I do recall you saying you loved books and I was curious. Not a lot of people are interested."

"I am a poet. Although I have not published my own works yet, I'm still in the process. You're a librarian; what are you interested in?" I asked. He looked at me and chuckled. I asked a really stupid question. It should've been obvious to me why he was working here.

"I am a librarian on Saturdays and Sundays. The rest of the week I am an English teacher. I ride on horseback everywhere I go. It's easier for me to get around and more fun which explains the way I am dressed." I nodded in surprise. We finally moved into a smaller compact room filled with books in carts.

"Here you go." He handed me a damp cloth and a dry cloth. "Each book that's on the cart must be wiped down and dried. They have been books that were already checked out and used. After that, return the books to the shelves. Look at the author's last name; they're organized in alphabetical order. Since you work here now you can check out any book to your liking. You'll most likely be the last to go home, especially with all the work you have. So here's a key to the library. After we close you can stay as long as you like and come whenever needed." He started to turn around when he said, "Oh! Be careful around here at night too." I wondered at the major concern in his eyes but before I could ask, Peter was out of the room.

The work was easy, for now. The customers would drop by every now and then to return and check out books or catch up on the daily gossip with Madame Beaumont. She and her girlfriends, per say, must have been some of the town's "Miss Busy-Bodies."

"Have you heard, Amelie?" A short and stubby lady asked, "They think he's back. They think he's back from the grave!"

"How could this be?" A tall skinny lady asked, "How can this monster still be here? With all the trouble that he's caused, how can children sleep safe and soundly at night?"

"Relax my dear friends. I overheard that the Inspector and the police force were still out looking for him. A great reward will come to those whom find him before the police," Madame Beaumont cooed.

"He should be sentenced to death. Hang him by the noose! Burn him at the stake! Shoot him! Make this unholy monster suffer." The stubby one raged. I flinched at every word she had said. Her list of punishments would surely give one nightmares. The bell on the door jingled and in came another older lady. She was dressed in a dark green gown and had gray hair. She walked with such grace and posture in every step. It was defined more as gliding than stomping. I recognized her as Madame Louise Giry; Christine Daae's old dance teacher. What I would give to attain such talent. But my place was in literature. She walked up to Madame Beaumont and spoke with her when they looked in my direction. Madame Giry walked up to me.

"Are you Mademoiselle Romano?"

"Yes, I am" I said in almost a whisper. "Gemma Romano, Madame. What can I do for you?"

She smiled at me and said, "You look like Christine Daae. And speaking of the young woman, she sent a letter to me about you. She also sent one for you." She handed me a manila envelope sealed with the initials C.D. on it. Christine still signed everything with her maiden name when she sent things to me otherwise she would use her new last name. Nevertheless, I was puzzled because I knew I looked nothing like Christine. She was beautiful in every way. Her skin was a light cream color that men fantasized about and her curly brown hair was long and perfect. Her eyes were a warm shade of brown and her lips were full. I had the full lips and the curly long, brown hair but, not the skin. I had a little bit more of a darker complexion than her and my eyes... I didn't even know what color my eyes were. They were of brown and gold. A golden color maybe. I snapped back to reality and looked at Madame Giry. She smiled, nodded and left. I took my finger under the flap of the envelope to open it but stopped suddenly to savor the anticipation for home.

I carried on with my work and daily routine stopping here and there for lunch and short breaks. When night covered the sky with her dark blankets, I walked outside to lock the library door. My work here was done for the day and I anticipated sleep once again. I walked down the half lit streets and listened to the silent night go by. Somewhere farther up the road I thought I had heard footsteps behind me. I ignored it, and then walked on. Ten minutes later I heard the whining of a horse. It was closer to me than before. I started to run thinking they were chasing me until I stopped dead in my tracks to see that they were in front of me. The steed was pure black and the rider was dressed in black attire; Too dressy to be out alone. His hair was slicked back but, he did not turn around for me to see his face. I hid in an alley way waiting for him to pass.

_*Who would be riding in the middle of the night anyways?* _I thought.

My thought completely snapped when I heard a beautiful voice singing. The voice then went to sobbing. The rider seemed to be looking for someone because I heard a woman's name come from his lips but, I couldn't make it out. I closed my eyes and soon enough the trotting of the horse's hooves were gone. I walked out of the alley way and looked around quickly before I started running home again.

When I had gotten into my room I noticed that I was pouring sweat from the fear inside. I decided to take a quick bath and got into my silk, white night gown. I grabbed my purse and sat on my bed. I took out the letter from Christine, slid my finger under the seal and tore the letter out and read...

_~My Dearest Gemma, _

_I hoped that you have made your way safely to Paris. My only concern is your stay there and you only know why, need I say more. I have sent a letter to Madame Giry, my former dance teacher at the Opera Populaire to watch after you. You can go to her for anything; she will be waiting for you. In my own opinion, your talents for art are spectacular. I know you can sing as well. I've heard you before in the gardens without your knowing. I am sorry for my sneaking around you. Try to keep to yourself safe there, especially around the opera house. I have been hearing rumors of the sorts and wanted to warn you. I am going to miss you terribly little Gem!_

_With love, Christine Daae~_

She was worried about me and I could sense that. She was worried because all her life she had known a devil with an angel's voice, an angel's appearance. Those were the exact words that came from Raoul. From the way Christine had described him in the beginning he was no monster. No devil. He was but a man who loved her with all his heart. She turned him ugly by betraying, manipulating and embarrassing him both in front of the public and in front of her all because she loved Raoul instead. And though their story plays in my head always, I had wished to comfort a man who seemed as great as he was told to be.

I lay there on the bed waiting for sleep to overcome my body. A single candle was lit inside the room. I lay there still, listening to the night once more. A gust of wind finally broke through my window and startled me. It made my fire flickering friend go out. A chilling sensation crawled up my legs as if it came from underneath my covers. I heard that same voice again that I had heard from the ship. It sounded like a lullaby. I slowly closed my eyes and let the voice sing songs in my head.


	4. My Sweet Nightmare

Ch. 3 My sweet nightmare

I had almost tripped over my shoes and into a deep puddle in the street. It had been raining all day long. I was on my way to work when I found a note in my little office. It was from Peter asking me to go meet him at the café for lunch when he got out on break. I rolled my eyes. I had only been here for about three weeks and the man asks me to lunch. I thought people were supposed to get to know each other first before they start asking things of them.

I hurried into the café and closed the door tightly behind me. The place smelled of warm bread and chocolate. The cooks yelled out orders in the back kitchen and the waitresses scurried to serve their customers. Of course every place in town must have been this way because of the rain. Everyone was stuck inside the buildings because of it. I looked around for Peter to find him sitting in the back corner of the café. He saw me and waved me over to him. I walked back to him and slumped down into the seat and rubbed my arms trying to stay warm from the cold rain that had my purple dress sticking to my body.

Peter laughed, "There's this invention called an umbrella. Have you heard of it?" I rolled my eyes at him and tried hard not to crack a smile at his sarcastic charm.

"If you have not noticed yet, I am not much of the prissy type," I whispered so nobody could hear. "But, if it makes you quiet down then I'll get one."

"Ahh so you do have a fierce side to you mademoiselle Romano. I would have never known," he smirked and winked. I would have loved to smack that stupid smirk off his face but, not in public as to make a scene.

"So, why have you asked me to meet you here?" I asked.

"Well, if you really want to know… I want to get to know you. You do work for my mother you know and might I add that you are cunningly beautiful who wouldn't want to get to know you."

I turned my head and looked down onto the floor so that he couldn't see the blush in my face. I push a strand of hair back from my face. 'God, why now when I just started out?' I thought. Peter was a very handsome man and he was very successful as well. No doubt he would make a potential lover, maybe even a husband… Not for me though. At least not until I could make all my dreams come true first. That's what really mattered most. Plus, I was really afraid to fall in love. Too many times I have seen my sister with other men just as handsome. They had flaws though which included too much drinking or smoking and soon my sister got into the habit of it a couple of times too.

"I appreciate the compliment Monsieur but, to be honest and before you get ahead of yourself, I am in no way ready to start anything with anyone right at this moment. I just started out on my own, finally away from home and I have big dreams," I explained to him nicely as to not hurt his feelings. Though I knew how to let the truth out without fear, I wasn't shallow like people in the past made me out to be. His eyes held happiness in them and then disappointment. He hung his head a little and said, "I apologize, Mademoiselle, for my absurd behavior. I-"

Before he could say anymore, I had my hand raised showing that I did not want to hear anymore. I smiled at him with reassurance that I was not mad at all.

"Now," I said folding my arms on the table, "tell me about the school where you teach." He smiled and went on telling me about how he was actually a college professor not really a school teacher. He worked there on the weekdays and worked in the library on the weekends. Most of the time he is at the library he's more likely doing 'homework,' grading papers or organizing a lesson for the next week. Then he went on to telling me about his life story and how they had come to Paris. The Beaumonts used to live in the country side of England and how they owned a farm. Peter told me about the hot days helping his father with the chores and how the crops seemed to always die during the winter.

When he was growing up, his best friend was a brown throughoubred mare named Shelly. He took care of Shelly and every day they rode upon the land that his family owned. When he was about sixteen, they sold Shelly for money for his father because his father had gotten sick. Two years after that, when he was eighteen, his father died. Peter decided to take it upon himself to move out of the place they stayed and went to have a better and easier life. That's when he decided to teach and eventually had enough money to buy a place to stay and open a business for his mother. His family was always good in the literature department so him and his mother started the library and have been there ever since. It seemed to me more of a rags to riches kind of story that turned out with a happy ending.

His story gave me confidence. I started to believe more and more each day that I can somehow in some way make my family proud of my in everything I did. That I can perfect in the arts just like they did but, at this moment in time, I was just a library girl living and breathing on dreams waiting to come true.

The rain had started to clear up as Peter walked me back to the library. The air was cold and smelled of rain. We walked past the Opera Populaire and I couldn't help but gaze at all its splendor. Just then we heard a booming sound from inside it. I jumped at the sound and Peter laughed a little. I covered my ears and looked at him quizzically. He looked back at the opera house, put a his left hand on his hip and sighed as if the noise was going stop only for him. He shook his head and ushered me on down the road.

"What was that awful noise?" I asked as we walked through the doors of the library. I could still hear the noise from outside only it was muffled by the walls.

"Oh that is the opera diva," Peter said putting the emphasis on 'diva.' "Her name is Carlotta and she is the star of every show we've seen. If you ask me, I think her voice sounds horrid. Believe me when I say this though, you do not want to meet her." His mother laughed a little and went back to writing.

Later that night I dreamed a lovely nightmare. As twisted as it sounds that is exactly what it was. I was in a very large place which seemed like a mansion. I did not know this place. It was not familiar to me. I walked among its halls wearing a smoky grey, strapless dress. I was surprised to see that I wore such a revealing wardrobe for the corset made my cleavage pop out of it a little. As I walked, I felt a presence that I could not see. He spoke to me of sweet things through the walls. I was falling hopelessly for this invisible being. I started to walk down the stairs of a big entry way. The floors were checkered black and white. The staircase floors were pearl white with golden railing and a red carpet ran over the top leading down it. I started to walk down the staircase when he called my name. I woke straight up in my bed and looked around the darkened room. I leaned over to light my candle on my nightstand. When I looked around the room I saw nothing. I put the candle back where it was and laid my head down again. Despite my fear or the dark and knowing that the light would soon go out, I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.


	5. A Decision Given

**Ch. 3 (A decision given)**

… **2 MONTHS LATER**

**~This voice of the night**

**Sings songs in my head...**

**This voice of delight**

**Sings songs in my head~**

I was singing to myself in the bathroom mirror. '_What am I thinking' _I thought. '_Ay me! I am living in my own fantasy world again.' _I giggled for I was talking Elizabethan language from Shakespeare's time. Like all the other nights since I've come to Paris the beautiful voice from the ship sang me to sleep last night. *_It was probably just you being tired again, Gemma.* _I sighed. I started to think about Christine again. She was like another sister to me so I could feel her worry in the letter she had sent to me a month ago. Christine Daae had sent me a letter talking about my talents.

'_Wait a minute!'_ I thought once again. '_She was spying on me all the time while I sang in my family's music room... So much for privacy!' _that was one of my most embarrassing talents; Singing.

I had gotten my voice from my mother who got it from her mother, my grandmother. Down my family line were female opera singers. Some even sang Celtic too. My father was a pianist who wrote his own music. My grandfather was one of the most famous instrument players in all of Italy. He played the violin, piano, clarinet and flute. My aunt was a ballerina and she used to teach me when I was young, but my clumsiness got the best of me.

My whole world was surrounded by music. It was always my dream, my secret wish and fantasy to make _my own_ world full of music just like my family had. I had never been able to perfect the notes and movements though. All I did was write down words that rhymed for my mother for her to sing at local concerts, and she was always strict on what the songs were about. My parents believed it was my shyness that made me lack the good skills to perform in the art of music. But, I went down my own different path into the art of words and good vocabulary. Literature, poetry, even song writing perhaps. 'Maybe someday, when I have the money and time, I'll pay for singing lessons and maybe even ballet too,' I thought smiling to myself.

I walked down the road again to the library. The mornings were busy and so were the streets. People opened their windows to air out their homes and bang out rugs from last night's dust. Up in the air were wires connected by both homes in front of each other to hang up the wet and soaking laundry. Children played on the walkways while their parents did the market shopping. People from their stores came out to advertise their merchandise and worn down performers laid out their hats to collect money by playing what they were good at. This was a typical Sunday in Paris.

It was pretty early when I had reached the library so I figured the Beaumont's were at early morning church. I should've gone. I should go. I put the key back into the purse I carried with me and walked down to the church just in time before the bells rang to begin the mass. Inside as I walked in was a small fountain of concrete with an angel at the top. As I looked down the aisle the huge wooden cross hung from the center of the wall. White candles were lit everywhere.

"Over here, deary!" I heard a voice call. I turned my head to the side to see Madame Beaumont and Peter waving to me. I walked over to them. We sat on the left side of the church in the center. The Priest began. I sat quietly and watched, listened. I looked around some more, curious with the faces about me. I stopped to see Madame Giry and what appeared to be her daughter, Meg Giry. Meg and Christine were best friends ever since they were children. I know Christine must have missed Meg and Meg missed her. They wrote every month to each other. They waved to me and I waved back. Peter looked over at me with wide eyes. My smiled faded and looked away quickly to hide any embarrassment.

Then Madame Giry and Meg started to talk to the two gentlemen next to them. The two gentlemen turned around to look at me then looked back. I had looked away as they stared. *_What was Madame Giry and Meg talking to them about?*_ Mass ended sooner than I thought, possibly because I was thinking about other matters. As we started walking out the doors, I was stopped by Madame Giry.

"How are you today, Gemma?" She asked.

"I am just wonderful, thank you, and you Madame?

"Splendid!" She said with a smile, "I would like to introduce you to the two managers of the Opera Populaire. This is Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre." The two men walked up to me one at a time, took my hand and kissed it and said, "A pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle Romano."

"My dear," Monsieur Firmin said, "we have heard so much about you. Both your poetry and writing... It would be an honor if you would work for us to write both our plays and songs as well."

Monsieur Andre cut it, "you see Mademoiselle. Our old play writer had died within the past few weeks from unknown causes."

"Poor bloke," Firmin added.

"The man was brilliant and creative. After his death we needed someone new but could not find anyone interested in the work. Nor were they educated in that position. What do you say?" There was eagerness in both men's eyes. In my eyes, I thought this would be the perfect chance to becoming a famous writer and perhaps a chance to let my "talents" show. I was so happy. But what about the Beaumont's? They needed me. I looked over at them. Madame Beaumont nodded. Peter smiled.

Meg walked over to me just then and smiled faintly, put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Maybe we should give you a few days... or weeks to decide." She looked over at the Monsieur's.

"Yes, yes! Most definitely." Andre exclaimed. "You know where to find us." They started walking out the doors babbling to themselves.

I looked over at Meg and said, "Thank you! I will come to you when I have decided."

"Oh Gemma! I do hope you come to join us at the opera house. It would be so much fun and you would do so well too." Madame Giry put a hand on her daughter's shoulder and smiled at her, then looked at me.

"It's a wonderful opportunity and you would have a nice place to stay as well. Just think about it."

I nodded, "I will Madame. I promise."

They walked away. I turned around to Madame Beaumont and Peter. Peter held out his left arm for me to take as he escorted his mother and I out the church doors. On the way back to the library they told me all about the opera house and how famous it was for their wonderful shows. If there was no writer though, then the Opera Populaire would be closed down for the duration of the time until they could find someone. What a terrible shame it would be to see it opera house close down. Peter tried to scare me with stories of the Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera as they called him. He told me that half of his face was deformed and just on that side he would wear a white mask. He rode around on his black stallion all through the night singing and sobbing, mourning and crying for his true love to come and return to him. I already knew the story, though they did not know it. I pretended to be surprised at every detail he told me just to satisfy him. He said that if I shall have a voice of gold then the Phantom would come to take me away. I rolled my eyes and laughed.

During my work inside the library I weighed out my options. My first was to leave the library and work in the opera house where I would have a home, make many friends, write and watch the operas and maybe study music and dance myself. My second option was to stay with Madame Beaumont and Peter, decline the opera house's manager's invitation, and save my money for the English classes. I had asked opinions from both Peter and his mother. They both said to go to the Opera Populaire and live my dream. I could keep the key to the library, for I was always welcome there. Within the last month of me living in Paris, I had become really close to the Beaumonts. I had nobody in Paris and they had been like family. I had learned a lot from Peter, him being an English teacher and all. He wanted me to use all my skills now in creating entertainment. Madame Beaumont had high confidence in me, knowing how I am.

I thought everything through as I walked home. It was now or never and I didn't want to decide weeks later because then by then I probably would've forgotten. I stopped in front of the Opera Populaire. It beckoned me to walk through its golden doors to a world of not only words but beautiful words with a rhyming melody to them. I could only hear it all now, the wonderful sing-song of my words scribbled onto paper; Original, beautiful, poetic and colorful. It all took my breath away when in that instant that voice came to me through the wind…

_~Come to me mon Ange de Poesie (poetry). Mon Ange de_ _Musique...~_


	6. Welcome Home

Ch. 4 (Welcome Home)

Just only weeks ago I was a newcomer to Paris. I had gotten a job the very next day at the library and have been working there for four weeks straight. Just yesterday after church I had been offered to be the new song and play writer for the Opera Populaire by the two managers themselves. I was deeply honored. This all happened within a month. I walked down to the library and as I walked I felt sorrow because I would be leaving the Beaumont's but, not forever. I promised to come and visit on my spare time and they promised to come and see the performances that were written by none other than me.

I walked in through the heavy doors. Madame Beaumont looked up from her work and Peter walked out of his quarters. A smile slowly spread across my face. They smiled back knowing what I had chosen.

"Oh I am so happy for you," Madame Beaumont cheered as she wrapped her arms around me. Peter walked up to me slowly. I could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes, but never showed it. He placed both hands on my shoulders. "You chose so soon Gemma! That actually took me by surprise. I thought you would've waited longer to decide."

Even though Peter had told me to go and take the job, he still did not want to see me leave so soon. In the time I was with the Beaumont's, Peter and I had become very close. He seemed closer to me though than I was of him. I would come to visit him almost every day after the school he taught at had gotten out and when he was done with the extracurricular work. We would go out to have dinner together every few nights. Peter was a very handsome and charming man, no doubt, but I was not ready nor did I feel the same way for him the way he felt towards me. We still remained the best of friends.

"I'm sorry Peter. I just didn't want to miss an amazing opportunity. I laid out all my options in front of me and so I decided that taking the job at the opera house was best for my future," I said.

"I know, I know." he continued, "I'm- I mean we are going to miss you very much."

Peter half smiled now and hung his head a little. He seemed to have nothing else to say because the words he wanted to say were forbidden in our friendship.

"But... Peter? You and your mother are always welcome to come and visit me. I will always come and visit you when I'm done with my work and you both can come to see the performances. It will still be the same as always with just a few changes here and there."

Madame Beaumont grabbed her son's hand and patted it softly. She said, "Peter the girl will be fine. She will do very, very well. Won't you Gemma?"

"Yes, Madame," I promised.

"You will make all of Paris proud!"

There has never been anything more momentous in my life that walking through the Opera Populaire's doors. As I walked in I was greeted by chandeliers and white tile that covered the floors and red carpet upon staircase. Beautiful, dramatic statues were everywhere filling empty spaces.

"Ahhh... Welcome Mademoiselle Romano! Glad you made it, and so early too." I turned around to see the managers of the opera house walking down the stair case. They came to me with smiles and each held out an arm for me to take. "Let us walk you to your room, shall we?"

"Can you imagine Mademoiselle, that this place was burned down about four years ago?" said Monsieur Andre.

"But we intended to fix it up and eventually finished just last year. Everyone has already settled in again and we hope you will too," said Monsieur Firmin. Andre nodded to him in agreement. As we walked a butler carried my luggage. They both babbled to each other all about their opera house and its history. I didn't mind it at all; it was interesting to learn about such a fascinating place.

"It was the year 1870 when we came here," Firmin explained. "The old owner was retiring and we replaced him. It was an unbelievable place. We accidentally interrupted a rehearsal though. Carlotta was singing and she had gotten upset with us. I cannot remember why though." We started walking down a hallway with many doors which I assumed were the rooms of other members of the Opera Populaire.

"When Carlotta sang the song 'Think of Me' one of the backdrops fell on top of her. Moments later a letter fell down," Andre said. "It was the Opera Ghost welcoming us to _his_ opera house. So he claimed it to be. Can you believe it? And he asked for 20,000 franks a month too!"

"Unbelievable!"

"You are damn right, Firmin. Oh! Excuse me Ms. Romano for my rude language."

I shrugged my shoulders and played along again, "Opera Ghost?"

"Yes. The one who kidnaped Christine Daae and burned down the Opera Populaire," Firmin answered. We stopped walking and stood in front of a white, wooden door. Andre opened it. The room's walls appeared to be red. A black dresser sat in the back right hand corner with a small mirror and drawers. In the middle of the room was a large mirror. Every piece of furniture was black. It was more romantic to me than anything.

"Welcome home Mademoiselle," a voice called softly. In the corner was Madame Giry. Andre and Firmin left soundlessly. I walked in and closed the door behind me.

"You will love it here. We shall add a writing desk for you soon. It's quiet in here so you will be able to concentrate."

"Thank you, Madame." I said.

"No, Gemma. Thank you! Without you agreeing to come here and work we'd all lose the opera house. Now, your sleeping quarters are right next to you through the door over there and into your room." She pointed to the door on the left side in the front of the room right next to the door that led out into the hallway. My eyes wandered everywhere, especially towards the large mirror. Her face and tone got serious.

"I believe she told you everything. This was her room." I nodded to Madame Giry.

"Gemma... don't go wandering in places you shouldn't. I don't want you ending up like Christine. Even though you can't see it, I can. She's miserable deep inside... And so is he. I heed you warning now. We don't need more broken hearts."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Nighttime rolled around. The day had been busy, but yet I was not tired this time. I was finally done unpacking and I went to my window. The air felt cool to the touch. I sat down on a chair and watched the stars twinkle. I really missed my old balcony at the inn in the little square, but this was much better than what I had expected. I got up minutes later and went to my writing room to explore some. I sat at the dresser and looked into the tiny mirror attached to it. Curious as I was I looked back down and started to rummage through the drawers. I opened the last drawer to my left on the bottom. Inside was a ruby red rose. Tied around it was a black satin ribbon. Underneath it was a letter with a red seal. I picked it all up and held the rose to my nose. The fragrance reminded me of Sicily, Italy; My hometown. Inside the envelope was a letter which was burnt on the sides. It looked Shakespearean to me. It said:

_Mysterious as it seems,_

_You shall soon see_

_Your visions and dreams _

_Welcome to your new home, Gemma. _

A chill ran up my spine. It felt as though the wind came through my window and into my writing quarters where it seemed impossible for the wind to get to. It wrapped around my body in a cold embrace, like a man does, in a seductive way. It softly stroked me face and I was deeply intoxicated. It finally stopped and went away. My lungs let out hot and heavy air. I realized that I really must have been daydreaming and, yet again, tired from a busy day.

My eyes went back to the letter. I went to the sink to fill a small vase with water and set the rose in it and on my night stand next to my bed. I went back to my writing quarters and gathered up the letter, a pen and paper. I sat at my dresser, which was my only desk for now and began to write:

_Dear Unknown Welcomer, _

_Thank you for the beautiful rose. I hope that my stay here will be very inviting and full of much opportunity. My name is Gemma Romano, as you may already have found out. I believe everyone has gotten the chance today to gossip about the new play writer and song writer. I came here from America seeking work in writing, poetry or literature in general. Again, thank you for the warm welcome. _

_Gemma R._

I did not know what to write, but I had hoped my new "unknown welcomer" would write me again.


	7. My Only Concern

Ch. 5 (My Only Concern)

IN AMERICA:

I stood outside on the balcony of my new home. The city was such a busy place that going home in the quiet side on New York was always the best part. The green gardens that were full of flowers were my favorite place to read. Why was I reading anyways? My world had been once full of music and wondrous melodies that it almost made cry just thinking about it. My new husband, Raoul Vicomte de Chagny, had suggested that I had retire from singing, dancing and just playing music altogether due to my last incident. Sometimes when I sit outside, the wind would hit my ears and I could still hear his-

"Christine!"

"I'm coming, my darling!" I shouted. I ran to the door and onto the staircase holding up my dress and into the living room to see Raoul and the Romano family sitting on the sofas. A tea pot lay steaming with cups circling around it. The royal blue pillows on the couches were arranged to everyone's comfort, and the drapes on the windows were open letting in streams of light.

"Christine!" Rosaline squealed with joy. We ran into each other's arms in a friendly embrace. The Romano family laughed with excitement. Monsieur and Madame Romano, who were actually a lord and lady, were good friends to Raoul's family. His father, Phillepe Victome de Changey and William Romano had worked together for years and have been friends since birth. William Romano was a pianist; Famous in his own country and hometown. Though he is Italian, his parents named him after a close family friend of theirs who died in war. The man was English and so the Italian man has an English name. He and his family had come to America from Sicily, Italy. His family was musical and with them was I only able to perform my talents.

Rosaline, like me, was a dancer but, also a violin player. Her younger brother, Dante, was a pianist and played the trumpet. He had a taste for fast music and surprisingly at the age of ten. Their mother, Anira Romano, was an opera singer. She is not from Italy but, from Scotland. She used to perform at the Opera house in Italy when she and William first started, but now she performs in the New York Theater. The last of them was Gemma Romano; the middle child. She had the most beautiful singing voice I have ever heard, but she was just too shy to show it off. When she danced, she always fell. When she played an instrument, she would either break it or just not be able to play nor read the notes right. She wasn't dumb at all though. I guess she wasn't that interested. So, she assigned herself in a world of words. She wrote lyrics for her family to perform and wrote stories and poems for pleasure. If trained properly in the musical world, she would release all her hidden talents. She just needed at better teacher. To be quite honest, I believed her parents were too strict, but that's just me. I knew just who would be a great teacher for her though.

The sound of voices around me came back when I snapped into reality again.

"Christine, there's a letter for you from Gemma," Madame Romano said handing me the letter. I carefully examined the familiar Opera Populaire envelope. It was red with black writing on the front. The Opera Populaire's address was stamped on it. There was a sweet scent that clung to the paper when I opened the envelope. It smelled of... roses. *Too many memories with so little time to think of them.* I thought and the letter read:

_-Christine, _

_I have come to Paris safe and sound just as I promised. It is a very wonderful place. Better than what I had expected. My first job was in a library, but at church one morning, I was asked to work as the new play and song writer for the Opera Populaire. The managers asked me themselves! So much has happened within the month I have been here. Another thing happened as well and I find it odd. I opened the drawer from the dresser in my room and inside was a letter. The sender was unknown. All the writer had said was 'Welcome Home.' There was also a red rose with a black ribbon tied around it. Seems like a romantic scene from those romance novels we always like to read. Any who, Christine, I wish you and my family could come and visit so that you all could see the plays I have written. _

_Love always, Gemma-_

My eyes grew wide with fear and... Jealousy was it? She was sent a rose with black ribbon tied to it. Raoul snatched the letter from my hands. He laughed as I tried to get it back from him when he read it. I waited for the fear and anger rise in the room. He saw it and I knew he had because his face grew stressed with anger. I was right.

"Are you alright, Raoul?" Rosaline asked. Raoul slumped to the floor, his head in his hands. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He began a story with these words:

"Some of you may recall of the stranger affair..."

"Not my daughter. I shall not have this! If any man lays one hand on her..." Monsieur Romano yelled and paused.

"Oh mother, father what shall we do?" Rosaline wept. Dante hugged her in comfort. He looked up to his mother for some advice.

"Christine and I can go back to Paris and take her home. I will not let this monster get a hold of anyone else, especially Gemma. He almost had Christine once and it won't happen again," Raoul said.

"Raoul, please," I begged. "He had meant no harm to Gemma. All he did was welcome her to her new home. Obviously no one else could stand up to her and say something-"

"Oh please, Christine! You think Firmin and Andre did not say anything to her? Not even Madame Giry or Meg? I'm sure someone said something. He's not the only one and even if he was I really could care less."

"He won't do anything else though. I know it to be true. I know he won't go after her, she's a poet Raoul. That's not his taste." I did not fully understand what I was trying to say or what I was trying to do but, something inside me just wanted reassurance that he would not attach himself to anyone else. Maybe I was jealous.

"Surely she can sing or so you've told me once before. Oh, and might I add he loves to take advantage whenever he can, especially when this young girl looks a little bit like you. You know with some of the same features... the voice from heaven. Tell me that doesn't ring a damn bell Christine!"

He looked back over at Monsieur Romano and his wife.

"Don't worry. We'll get her back home," Raoul promised.

"My family and I have decided to accompany you on your mission to Paris. Gemma is our daughter. Perhaps she shall understand when her parents are there to take her back home." Monsieur Romano declared.

I looked down ashamed and beaten. I watched as Madame and Monsieur Romano were led into Raoul's quarters to make the arrangements. Rosaline came up to me and put her arms around my shoulders.

"I agree with you, Christi. I really do. I know my sister would never disobey the rules of the opera house. She is too cautious with the people around her. She would never go venturing from her _own_ quarters alone."

Rosaline was my best friend. My new best friend actually. Meg and I had gotten into a fight before I had left for America about how I was leaving. It was a stupid fight nonetheless and was childish. I still missed her though. Now I was even more concerned for Gemma, thinking of the worst case scenarios. She could fall into a trap. His traps were hard to get out of as well because even I was still in it.

"Rosaline, I do believe that you are actually the _only_ one who does believe me."

His trap was called love. It was love that he showed through his hands, his words, even his music.


	8. Meg and Her Friends

Ch. 6 (Meg and her friends)

*'_The'- no, no..._ _'The truth…' Ok good so far, Gem… 'The truth. Beneath the rose!' Yes! Brilliant!*_

Time came to me and shortened my days at the opera house or so it seemed. I was always busy locked away in my writing quarters writing my play. I had a title and ideas. Well one idea for now. The play would be about a man who was cursed and he could only break the curse by finding true love. I had to think quickly and efficiently. The time for a new show was almost here and I had no time for fun and games at this point. I had started out great but could not think of a title. The first twenty pages were already written, but something was missing.

"I should maybe twist this up with a bit of romance too," I said to myself. "Who can show the meaning of love though?"

"A man. A man could show you the meaning of love; show you yourself inside. Your hidden soul."

"Who's there?" I said scared. My limbs started to shake and I felt dizzy.

"Come now, mon Ange de Poesie. Come lie. You are weak and unrested, your eyes are heavy. Close them now. Don't peak," the voice sang again. I obeyed it and fell asleep upon my bed. Through my eyes I still heard him sing me to sleep.

BEHIND THE MIRROR:

"What am I doing?" I said to myself. "She must never know who I am. She must never find out. I will not be a broken hearted man again."

I walked away from the mirror. I did not want to go through another Christine dilemma again. All I wanted was peace. It was my only chance for survival and yet I wanted to take my chances with this new, young and beautiful girl. Beautiful. Yes, yes she was very. Her skin was a little darker than Christine's. Her hair was a curly brown that gleamed even if she wasn't in the light. And her eyes, oh those eyes I did long to see. It surprised me because she wasn't even in my taste. She was a poet! A writer! What would that propose?

Then it occurred to me that she could write me songs, if she wanted. Lyrics that I could compose and then maybe I could teach this Italian Ange to sing. At least I suspected her to be Italian by her looks.

_*No! I could not.* _I thought. I climbed into the gondola and pushed my way over the water.

_*I still can't believe I even wrote a letter back to her.* _

_-Ange de Poesie, _

_I know soon enough that your works will be famous and you will have a better aquatience somewhere else besides the Opera Populaire. I must warn thee to never go wandering where you're not supposed to. The night outside is dangerous for an essential beauty like yourself. Before I finish, do not go looking for me, for I am hidden within the heart of everything around you. Do not talk about me to anyone amongst you. Make me this promise._

_Your faithful friend-_

I had written to this stranger the first day I had come here and he wrote back. What and who was he? Was he a stranger at all? I felt as though I have known him for quite some time now. He was a being hidden in my mind. Was he imaginary? Was he a dream or an illusion? I could not tell nor did I know. But the anticipation to know the man behind the romantic language in which he wrote, grew stronger. I placed the letter on the bottom right hand drawer. I would write another letter to him later in which he would find in the bottom left hand drawer while I was asleep.

The morning shone with fragile sunlight. The clouds had covered most of the sun though. Women walked around in their sun dresses of cream white and baby lilac purple. The men held umbrellas with white lace above their heads. Horses could be heard within the square as the coachmen stopped them in their tracks. I breathed in the morning air. I went into the wardrobe and quickly put on a thin cream colored dress with long sleeves. My cleavage was covered up with lace that was attached to the top chest area of the dress. Thank goodness! I was not the one to show much of anything. Not even my legs. I was a lady and I understood that concept. I guess I was just a little bit of a tomboy too. Any chance of wearing slacks and a loose shirt was good enough for me but, I still liked the occasional neatness and being pretty. I then pulled out my cream colored slides, or ballet shoes. I had four colors: black, brown, white and cream; one to match certain dresses. I owned no fancy dresses or shoes. Everything was plain yet high class for I have never had a reason to get such attire.

I walked to the door, down the hallway and into the dining hall where breakfast would be served to all who lived and worked in the opera house. Inside the room everyone was buzzing about the new play that I was writing. Even though they knew no details, they still wondered.

"Gemma!" Meg waved at me and patted the chair next to her. "Come join us."

I sat down to a table of bouncing and bubbly dancers. Their skin was smooth and pale from lack of sun. They wore ballet dresses that they practiced in and ballet shoes. Their hair was either in a bun or a braid. I was silent. This was a little uncomfortable.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Gemma this is Sophie, Rene and Satine." Meg pointed out to each girl at the table. Sophie and Satine were twins. Their hair was red and they wore it in a bun. Their eyes were an amazing shade of green and their smiles were warm. Rene was a black-haired-seemed-to-be-stuck-up kind of girl in the way her posture was. But then again I was just judging her by the way she presented herself. Her eyes were gray with high cheekbones. To my surprise she nodded and smiled.

"So you're the new writer?" She asked. "Congratulations!" She was another person with a British accent.

"Thank you," I replied. "I'm very happy to be here."

"Gemma just moved here only a few weeks ago. She came from America." Meg pointed.

"Wow!" They all said.

"Yes. Her family came from Italy to America. Now she is here in lovely Paris," Meg explained.

Satine giggled, "Welcome to the city of love." The girls followed in their laughter.

"So Gemma... What's it like over in America?" Sophie asked.

"Well it's warm there during the summer months and it snows during the holidays. I have never been outside of New York though, until now. But the city is big, busy and a delight to see at night. I remember that, that was the only time Christine would ever go out there. My family and I would go out with her and her husband-"

"Christine Daae? You know her?" Satine interrupted.

"Well of course. Raoul's father is good friends with mine. My sister Rosaline and Christine are best friends. We're practically family." I looked over at Meg. Sadness washed over her face.

"I guess she must have replaced me and moved on."

Rene put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, "no, no Meg. She would never." Meg smiled back at her, "I know. I guess you're right." The others nodded.

"So..." Sophie asked. "Did Christine ever tell you about her Ange?"

"About what?" I asked.

"Oh please!" Meg begged, "Let's not talk about it. Besides you know it is forbidden."

Sophie waved her hand towards Meg.

"C'mon Meg, it's not that bad!"

"It's alright Meg," I said. "Christine already told me everything. At least everything about him."

"Oh." She said surprised. Sophie shrugged her shoulders.

"Yes, yes. We all know the story. So do you know how to dance?" Rene asked.

"Unfortunately, no I don't. That was always a dream I have had; to dance and to sing too. I mean, I guess I could sing, or so Christine says. I just need more lessons." My last sentence seemed to echo throughout the dining hall. Meg's eyes went wide.

"We could teach you to dance," Satine cheered. "That will be fun."

"But what about the plays, Satine?" Sophie asked concerned.

"She could always do those later. Besides, we'd only teach her for an hour or two. We could do it early in the morning or during the late hours of the night." Meg explained.

"That would be a brilliant idea! The play is almost done anyways and I have been waiting to have a break. Maybe to explore the Opera House or something," I said.

Sophie rolled her eyes, "Oh don't break rule number one-hundred! One of the rules is that you can't go sneaking around in places you don't belong, especially at night."

"It wasn't like that before though, Sophie," her sister said.

"I know. It was Christine's fault! She would always go snooping around at night and sometimes wake up Madame Giry and that is something you _would not_ want to do."

"Hmmm... Christine never told me about any of that," I said.

"You know, it's not that I hate Christine. I love her to death." Rene looked at Meg, "But, it's the fact that she ruined many privileges for us is what I hate."

"The phantom died though, so we should have our freedom back, right?" Satine asked.

"Right," Rene exclaimed. "So I don't know why we have any. It's all rubbish!"

"What is Madame Giry hiding?" Satine whispered again then looked to Meg. "Meg you would know, wouldn't you? She is your mother."

Meg looked down. She closed her eyes and sighed. She shook her head and replied, "No, I wouldn't know. She would've told me anyways."

Suddenly, Madame Giry dismissed all of the ballet girls and walked them down the hall to the dance room behind the opera stage. Rene looked over as me as she got up.

"Tonight, you're dancing. Meet us in the dance room at 11:00." Then she walked off with the other girls and I was soon left alone in the huge dining room. The walls were a very pale blue and a chandelier hung from the octagon indented ceiling. Pictures surrounded in white framing hung from the walls. They contained pictures of small towns and lush, secret gardens. One picture looked like my hometown in Sicily.

I cleaned up my plate with what was left of my crepes, eggs and English muffin. I stacked my plate and cup on top of the other and walked to the bin of dirty dishes. Surley the maids would be here soon to come and wash them. I walked out of the dining facility and back through the hall which led to my room. I didn't notice how long the hallway was. With each turn I was greeted by portraits of ballerinas and famous opera singers. I had passed by one of Carlotta. I was very interested in meeting her face to face. I had then stopped to see a portrait of a woman in white and brown curly hair. It was Christine.


	9. Shadow Dancing

Ch. 7 (shadow dancing)

The night's wind howled and the French flags that hung outside the shops flew with it. There was a storm coming, I could feel it all around. The last thing I wanted was the sun to disappear behind the clouds during the day. But, what could I do? Maybe it's just a night storm. I looked at my pocket watch that was on my dresser in my writing quarters. I sat impatiently as the clock said 10:00. I wanted to go. I wanted to finally dance. I sighed. With growing impatience I left my quarters and strolled down the corridors. I walked faster and then stopped to remember how noisy Christine had been. I slowed my pace. I had finally reached the stairs that lead down and met another hallway. I walked through and into the backstage area of the auditorium. There was a door in the way back with a wooden ballerina on it. Hoping this was the dance room, I opened the door. The room smelt of wood polished floors. Mirrors and rails surrounded the room. I touched the rail then looked up to see my reflection in the mirror.

Behind me was a person dressed in black. My eyes grew wide and I started to pant softly. The figure slowly glided towards me. I turned around to see it only a foot in front of me. I bit my lip and tried to run away, but my feet were glued to the floor. The dark figure reached a hand out to me. It' hands were covered with black leather gloves that reminded me of a murderer.

"I won't hurt you... Ange," it said. "Come. Dance with me."

I looked back up to find his face covered in a black mask. His eyes were covered with black but enough for him to see, but not me. His mouth was also covered with black just enough for him to talk and for me to hear with clarity. His face was completely hidden from my view. His hand was still left out for me to take. Even though I could not see any part of him, I reluctantly took his hand. He pulled me hard and fast into his chest. My right hand landed on his chest and I slid it up to his shoulder. His hand snaked from the side of my waist to my face. He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

"Your blush reminds me of roses," he murmured.

His voice... Oh his voice. It sounds as if I've heard it somewhere before; Like in a dream.

'_Wake up Gemma! This is all a dream.' _

He put his hand back down from my face and grabbed my left hand to lead the way. His other hand was still at my waist, his grip on me never loosening. We flew across the floor.

'_This shall not end well.'_

My foreshadowing was accurate. As we danced, I fell and tripped over my own feet. He had always caught me and with his guidance and confidence in me he lead me to dance with him accurately... without me falling. We were dancing in complete darkness except for the moonlight that shown through the two windows.

I was finally actually doing something I have wanted to do. Waltz. It's a form of dancing that I have never mastered, but now I have. It was easier than expected. I started to laugh a bit as we twirled and then looked down in embarrassment. We had stopped suddenly and he lifted my head with his hands and sang:

**~Child you remind me of older days**

**You remind me of my long lost love**

**In the beginning everything was beautiful**

**Then ended in a fray~**

This time he took my hand and guided me throughout the dance room to the window where the raindrops shone in the moonlight. He hid in the shadows as he pushed me into the light.

**~You have come here**

**In pursuit of your poetic career**

**Instead of music... Music**

**Because you have been silenced... no more silence~**

My mouth laid open to my secret revealed through another's mouth. I replied to him as best as I could... In the same tone:

**~I have come here**

**To fulfill my deepest dream**

**To pursue my deepest fear**

**Which for years I have silenced… no more silence~**

"Gemma? Is that you?"

I stopped to turn around to find the dark figure. He was gone. My mouth gaped open again as I tried to find the words to speak.

"Christine was right! You have a very lovely singing voice," Rene replied.

"You might want to hide it though, before the phantom comes to get you!" Satine teased and her sister giggled.

"Quiet you two!" Rene scolded. Meg smirked at their childish behavior.

"I was... I... I was just... ummm..." I sighed. "I couldn't wait so I left my room to find the dance room and waited here."

"Alone in the dark?" Meg asked.

"With the phantom!" Sophie added.

"If you say one more word, Sophie..." Rene said as she held up her fist in Sophie's face.

"Oh, come on Rene! Have some fun." Sophie replied.

"Yeah, alone. I needed some alone time anyways." I said.

"Well you shouldn't just be the play writer. You should sing as well. You would be wonderful, Gemma!" Meg was ecstatic.

"No. No. No. I couldn't possibly. As I said, I need lessons to strengthen it." They nodded their heads finally agreeing with me. Rene walked up to the rails.

"Before we start, you'll have to dress in something else." Rene handed me a ballet dress and shoes. I changed and they helped to tie the strings in the back. Rene grabbed the rail.

"Now, Gemma. Follow my lead." Rene started to bend her legs slightly and her free arm went into a circular motion. We did this for a while. Then I started running and jumping, my legs doing some split in the air. I sat on the floor my legs spread apart in an attempt to do a split. Meg pushed me down.

"Ouch!" I complained.

"It's going to hurt, Gemma. You'll get used to it," she replied. My lesson had finally ended for the night. It was 12:30 by now. I was tired and my body was screaming at me. The girls had left before me. I stayed to watch the raindrops in the moonlight again remembering the man in black.

It hit me very hard. It reached my core and the pit of my gut growled like my stomach when I was hungry. Sweat drops started to come down my face. The man in black was not some random man. He called me 'ange.' That word was used in my letters from the 'unknown welcomer' that I wrote to every time he had sent one to me. How could I have been so blind?

"You can sing very well, little Ange."

I turned around again to see the man in black.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"You should know very well who I am," he replied.

I lied, "No. I do not know."

"You are a terrible liar Mademoiselle. But, I shall tell you anyways-"

"I know who you are... I'm sorry I lied. You must be my unknown 'pen pal.'"

He chuckled, "Pen pal? I wouldn't consider myself _that_ friendly. But, you are a very lovely singer and it would be my honor to teach you... If I may, Ange."

"You? Teach me to sing? Why that's-that's impossible! I am not good enough to be able to do that. I always fail and-" his finger touched my lips and he shushed me. He left them there for a few seconds then started to trace my lips with his finger. As he did this my eyes closed slowly and I sighed with an unknown feeling. He then quickly placed them back at his side.

"You can do... anything your heart desires. Did you know that, Ange?" He asked.

I shook my head. "Too many times has my family put me down in the world of music. That's why I am but a poet and a writer."

"...And you are more. You are more than meets the eye. I know you can. I shall teach you, I promise. All of Paris shall love you then."

The thought of fame came to mind and money and fancy parties. All these were selfish and simple minded thoughts. Sin. That's what they are in the Bible. Selfishness and lust would also come with the price of fame or maybe you could control yourself which is what I would do. I wished to not obtain those though and I prayed to God that if I took his invitation that I would not go down those roads.

"Yes." I replied simply.

"Good," he whispered. "We shall meet in this room always. Or we could meet in the prayer room. It's your choice, Ange."

"The prayer room? It's isolated from the other rooms." I swallowed hard.

"Do not be frightened, child. Your new life has only begun to take its form. I promise you that you will be happy with this decision." At this point he had my hand and had pulled me closer to his chest. I was soon intoxicated but then fled from his embrace.

"I'm sorry. I'm-I'm just not comfortable with that. I'm sorry, Monsieur."

"No, Mademoiselle, I am the one who should apologize for my irrational behavior." He paused for a moment and said, "We have a big night tomorrow. Goodnight."

He bowed and faded into the darkness. I was left, once again, alone.

"Good night... Maestro."

**Hey everyone! Thanks for all the support and reviews that I have gotten from some readers. I didn't think this story was going to go too well. Though I do think that maybe this story is going a little too fast =/ I'm going to try and slow it down a bit. For all the reader's sakes. I just want you all to know that I'm going to be gone for a week due to the fact that I am going to bible camp, so it might be a little while till I upload another chapter. But, pleeease please please leave your comments and opinions on the story as I do like to read critiques from everyone so that I can work on what needs to be better and whatnot. Also, if you guys have any storyline ideas please feel free to leave a message or a review and I'll take it into consideration. Thanks you!**

**~Phoenix**


	10. In Fantasies You Always Knew

**NOTE: Yes I know this is weird putting a note at the very top of my story lol. I just wanted you all to know right away that I am going to start telling the story in the 3rd person. I was going to take it all down and redo EVERYTHING but, I really don't have the time for it plus I'd have to go back through all of them and fix everything. It should be easy for you guys to follow through the story though as I am really only making it easier for me to be descriptive and more organized with the story. **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun shone brightly through the windows in the main entrance of the L'Opera Populaire. The gold along the railing of the stair case reflected the sunlight and the white marble floors looked more white than usual. It was another rehersal day and evryone was just starting to wake up throughout the opera house. The sound of water being turned on could be heard through the walls and little murmurs of people walking through the halls could be heard behind doors. As time went on the opera house became louder and louder as everyone scurried to their daily chores and work.

Gemma Romano, the L'Opera Populaire's newest play writer, woke up startled at another yet, obnoxious voice that could be heard all throughout Paris. Firmin and Andre's opera diva, Carlotta, was practicing once again, just like every day of the week. Once Gemma knew the noise she rolled her eyes and fell back against the pillow, face first. She tried to cover her ears with the pillow as to not hear anymore but, the attempt failed. She cursed into it and brought her face back up into a groggy and sleepy state.

Last night was just like every other night. Sometimes the voice wouldn't even come for three to four nights. It was as if it would just come whenever it wanted. Gemma would wake to the voice in the middle of the night and went into the prayer room where nobody would hear and she would sing. She would sing all her heart out to this being or ghost. Everyday she got better at it and everyone once in a while she would have double practices. Singing and dancing, well dancing with Meg and the girls of course. This voice though seemed so familiar as if she heard it from somewhere in her lifetime. As if this being was from a story...

_*Christine.*_ Gemma thought, _*Her story. His story...*_

Gemma got out of bed and saw something red from the corner of her eyes. On her nightstand was another blood red rose with black lace. Another welcoming, another thank you. It was darkly romantic yet frightening all the same. A small gasp drew itself from her mouth as she picked up the rose with a trembling hand. She fell onto her knees clutching the rose with both hands to her chest. Stinging tears brimmed at her eyes and she covered her mouth with one hand to quiet the sobs coming from within her.

So Christine's story was true after all. Before she had not believed in everything Christine had told her. Gemma thought that maybe her parents tried to set her up so that she wouldn't leave home to Paris and used Christine to tell a white lie because they knew that if Gemma was to listen to anyone it would more than likely be Chrstine she would listen to. But no, this was all too real to be a story, a legend. Was she to take Chrstine's place as his newest little diva? Was he going to kill in her name so that she could live her dreams and to get what he wanted? Definetley not.

Though something seemed different about him. He hasn't acted out at all nor has he even shown that he was here and around the L'Opera Populaire. No letters to the managers, no deaths or sudden mishaps of any kind. The opera house seemed peaceful though there would be the occasional police that would come in and just check things out just to see that everything is running smoothly. Madame Giry even seemed quite pleased with the way things were going. She did not have anything look of mystery about her like the way Christine had described her to be, unless she was a good actress.

Gemma was now lying on the ground; a pool of her tears formed underneath her head. She wanted to crawl back into bed and lay there for the rest of the day just to block out the world for a while. She wondered what horrors had awaited her in the future. Surely this would be the end of her career. All the world would know of the young Sweedish soprano, Christine Daae, and the young Italian poet, Gemma Romano, who fell into his spell. She realized though that her fear was not for him. It was for his actions, his temper. Gemma had never heard him angry, only upset.

When he would sing he would sound raspy and out of breath as if the music that flowed through his body was dying. *_If he was to die it would be of a broken heart_* Gemma thought. She knew the feeling of a broken heart. The butterflies you would feel in your stomach would be flying their last flight in your stomach and instead of your giddiness you would feel nauseated. Your head would surely bust from all the stress and happy memories that are now concealed in your past never to be re-lived. Your breaths would be shallow and your body weak from no nourishment. Your eyes would sting and be swollen from the many tears you shed for the one whom had left you standing alone in the dust. To go on living life alone till the next heartbreak.

When Gemma would sing she would hear him start to cry a little and when she asked him if he was alright he would seem fine again and his voice would be normal. He would tell her to keep singing and not to stop completly ignoring the question. Another thing that seemed odd and out of place was the fact that she had only seen him one time. _*Well seen what seemed to be a shadow really.*_ The night in the dancing room Gemma had possibly seen merley the shadow of him. He was covered in all black, head to toe. His hands were convered with black, leather gloves and his face was covered with what seemed to be an all black mask. She couldn't see his eyes nor his mouth though he could surely see her because he knew just where she stood.

Gemma took a few deep breaths while still laying on the floor. Panic seemed to release itself from her body and out the door. She grabbed the sheets of the bed to aid her up onto her feet. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and turned around to hear the maids come into the room grabbing her stuff and turning on the water for her morning bath. The maid walked up to her side and guided her to the bathroom. Gemma smiled warmly at her knowing that she did indeed need to soak herself in some warm water after her panic attack. It would relieve the stress and would return her face from pink to the normal color it always is.

When she had gotten out of the bathroom and inton her dress she sighed and placed on her powder and make-up. She fixed her hair into the lush curls they always have been for years and pinned it up just so that it was out of her face yet still flowing down her back. She walked to the full length mirror to check and make sure that everything was perfect. Before she left he started running through her mind again. Gemma placed a hand on the mirror and closed her eyes and prayed. Whatever was going to happen from now on would all be for a reason. Though he has never done anything rash to hurt her in any way she still fear what he might think or do now that she knows who he is. _*No! He must not know... At least not now.* _

She would keep him in the dark until he shows himself of his own free will._ *He may never show himself to me now but, I know that if he trusts me he may. I just have to make friends and... and not do what Christine did to him.*_ Gemma prayed for forgiveness that if she make make this deal with fate that it will do her no harm in the future. That it would lead to good and righteous things. Surely she would never go against him and tell the athorities where he was and who he was. She would give him that peace and leave him be. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling of enjoying the company of the legendary Phantom of the Opera.


	11. Routine

Days like these at the opera house tended to be sort of a bore. Gemma would be asked to sit in the auditorium everytime they ran a rehersal, even if it wasn't for any particular play. While Gemma still wrote the script the composer for the plays music would write out the music that would best fit the theme and setting to Gemma's play. Maestro Reyer was his name. He has been a big part of the Opera Populaire for almost all his life and has seen his fair shares of what has been done to the opera house. He was a man who liked to get things done quickly and efficiently. Everything had to be done on time otherwise, if nobody followed up on his orders, he would more than likely have a heart attack.

During the duration of the time Gemma had been at the opera house her and Reyer had grown rather close. They had what seemed to be more of a daughter and father relationship. He would help her alot during the times she was stressed and couldn't think of any more ideas for the script she created. When he wrote the music she would be with him in his office and he would teach her a little on writing music and playing the piano. He noticed on many accounts that she had a beautiful voice but, said it could use some training. She, of course, took no offense to it. Reyer told her that even though he did not know much of singing, nevertheless teach her, he made up for it by also teaching her how to play the violin.

The violin had always been one of her favorite instruments, besides the piano. You would think that a maestro would teach his pupils how to sing but, the opera house's managers had singing teacher's they used instead because they believed that reyer needed more time in creating the music than teaching people how to sing. Gemma did not mind this neither and took no worry into it for she already had a maestro who taught her how to sing. That of course, nobody knew about and would stay that way.

Gemma sat quietly and watched the first part of the play she had written. It was about a young prince who was arrogant, selfish and greedy towards all his people. He was mean to the poor and looked down upon them and for the rich he thought were the most superior of the human race. The one thing he did not have was love for anyone but himself. One rainy night a sorceress came knocking on his door and asked for shelter and a place to stay for the night till the rain blew over. The young prince turned her away and told his guards to cast her out of his kingdom's grounds and back out onto the streets.

The prince had lacked a heart and because of his selfish deeds the sorceress turned him into a monster. As for his maids, butlers and guards they too were turned but turned into inanimate objects yet they still could talk and breath like normal. The only way for him to break the spell was to turn from his cold heart and learn to love for he shall be loved in return. If this was done before the last petal fell he would change back into his human self and so would everyone else in the kingdom. Everything would be normal again and he would be a different but, better man. His lesson would be learned. If the last petal on the rose fell and he did not love then everything and everyone would stay that way forever and so would the prince. Gemma called it: "La vérité sous la rose" (The Truth Beneath the Rose.)

The music Reyer wrote for it was beautiful. The music in the first scene was very heavy and dark which added to the dark side of the prince's personality as well as the gothic like background and setting for the stage. She listened closely as a man walked onto the stage and sang the part of the prince, which also so happened to be the newest male singer. Before the Opera Populaire was burned down, Carlotta's counterpart and male star to the Opera Populaire, Piangi, was said to have already been dead during the duration of the time the Phantom was on the stage singing in his opera: "Don Juan Triumphant." The reason of his death was found by a rope tied around his neck with his hands still up trying to free himself of it. Obviously, the work of the Phantom.

All the male roles were now played by a younger and more handsome, pure french man by the name of Leonard De Rosier. Unlike most men, his hair was short and brown that held a golden tint in the light. His eyes were almost like an emerald green color. The maids and ballet dancers seemed as though they would faint in his presence. Throughout his family tree everyone was from somewhere in France. They lived and breathed on the wealthiest parts of society and Leonard, though he replaced Piangi, was also Raoul de Changy's replacement alongside the managers of the Opera Populaire.

When Andre and Firmin wanted to re-build their precious opera house they had a few aquaintances in mindto help them do the job. They chose men of wealth and talent for the arts. It all came down to the middle child of the De Rosier family, Leonard. His personality was not selfish and mean like the beast he portrayed in the opera but the total opposite. That's why all the women drooled over him. No only was he handsome and wealthy but, he had a kind and loving heart. He did though, have one flaw that bothered Gemma the most. He would flirt with every single woman that was in his interest. Rumors came and pass and every few weeks he would have a new "interest." One woman in particular that caught his eye was the newest addition to the Opera Populaire family, the opera writer, Gemma Romano. Leonard had made many attempts to get her attention but, all failed. The only attention she would give him was that of a friend and nothing more.

Gemma jumped at the sound of Reyer yelling once again to stop everything for a short break. She watched as the managers got up from their seats and walked towards her.

"I say Mademoiselle that the rehersal is going swimmingly wouldn't you say," Andre smiled.

Gemma nodded in agreement and said, "Everything is going fine, of course. Like I hoped it would but, now everyone has just got to get into character. Plus, the dancers have to slow the dance down a little in the beginning."

The two manager's looked at each other and gave a hearty laugh. Firmin put his hand on her shoulder and said, "You are very eager, Mademoiselle Romano. I assure you though that everything will come into place. It will all be perfect in due time." With that they both excused themselves to lunch and walked down the main aisle and out of the auditorium. Gemma closed her eyes and sighed. Carlotta started walking down the main aisle towards her fanning herself with one hand and holding her pampered pooch in the other.

"Romano. Gemma Romano, isn't it?" She asked.

Gemma smiled warmly thanking God that she hadn't lashed out like she always did and replied, "Si, Senora."

"Ahhh..." She smiled, "You are Italiano, no?"

"Si, Senora. I am from Sicily, Itlay."

She smailed again and nodded. Carlotta opened her mouth to say something once more when she was cut off by Leonard.

"A very beautiful Italian woman at that, may I add," he exclaimed. Gemma face flushed red from either from embarassment or anger. She couldn't choose which it was but, she looked back at Carlotta who now glared at her and walked away without a word. _Well now I'm on her bad side_ Leonard walked up to Gemma and smiled holding out his arm and asked, "May a gentleman escort a lady to lunch this afternoon?"

Gemma just smiled and laughed a little for she knew he was trying though he failed always and held onto his arm. While they walked to the dining hall they talked of the opera and how Leonard thought that it was going to be a success. He told her that this would be his first opera he would ever be in and how excited and happy he was to be a part of all this. To start up a flirtacious mood he stated that he was honored to be in an opera created by the beautiful Gemma Romano.

"Oui mon petit!" He added in a eerie voice, "You're beauty will surley lure L'Fantome de'l Opera from his grave and you shall be his new victim."

She rolled her eyes and let go of his arm as they approached the double doors to the dining hall and said, "And you must be the hero who will save me from my dark fate?"

He chuckled and replied in a more jokingly, serious tone, "If I must be then I shall."

As far as Gemma was concerned, there was no need to worry as her fate would not turn dark as long as she had God on her side and in her heart. But, her curiosity was getting the best of her and she wanted to know more about her maestro who was, as Gemma believed with all her heart to be, the Phantom. She thought to herself as she she ate amongst her friends to whom she could go and find any bit of information without making anything obvious.

Of course, she wouldn't ask the managers because they were very skittish about the subject as is. Sending a letter to Christine would take too long and all the memories Christine had of him she already told Gemma. There would be no point in asking any of the dancers as some of them were new and were not around the time of the Phantoms reign and the other's who were there acted dumbfounded to the whole idea. Carlotta... well she was a different story. Also, she seemed like she would lash out at her anyways now. So there was no use. It all came down to three people who could possibly know more than anybody in the opera house. Reyer could know some things because he was there the whole time. She would talk to him later in the evening though when he wasn't so busy. Meg may know a little bit because of her mother. Gemma would talk to her later at night. Madame Giry seemed to be the only one who would know everything there is to know about the Phantom.

Christine had already told Gemma that if anyone knew the wereabouts of the Phantom it would be Madame Giry for she had always taken care of him since he had been there. Gemma looked up from her food slightly smiled to herself. She would talk to each of them when they were not so busy and she also knew where to get more information if need be. The Beaumont's library.

* * *

Far away from the Opera Populaire and the bustling streets of Paris was a grand estate nestled in Rouen, France. To get to it you would have to go down a dirt road covered with many trees and forest. The estate was close and yet far enough away from the town to have the proper privacy. It was placed on acres of land that held a stable of horses and a small lake. In front was a tall, black iron gate and in the center of the gate some iron bars formed the letter "D." The dirt road turned into pavement when you passed the gates and in the center of the drive was a large water fountain. In the front yard the grass was green and grew very lush and a few very tall trees that grew flowers on them during the spring planted themselves in it. A large wooden porch wrapped itself around the whole entire home. When you walked up to the front door statues of Persephone and Hades would bid you welcome into the home.

When you looked up at the ceiling to the main entrance you would see angels painted. All the rooms were furnished with elegant red, black and white sofas and paintings of far away places, angels and flowers. In certain parts of the house medium-sized, white statues of a man and woman intertwined in different loving, but acceptable to be seen in public, embraces were placed on black furnishings. The bedrooms were draped in fine silk and rugs from different lands. The dining room held a long wooden table and a bowl of water lillies were placed in the center. Underneath it ran a black table runner with golden lace at the hems.

In the master bedroom a king-sized bed was neatly made as if it had never been touched by anyone. It's four black posts held a canopy above it and was designed in blue silk and black lace. The bed sheets and goose feather pillows matched all the same. The furniture in the room was black with silver handles. The biggest dresser held some fine jewelry and a paper and pen in which someone had been writing on. It held a big mirror in the center but, it was covered up by a black sheet just like the rest of the mirrors throughout the estate. The french doors led to a small balcony with two chairs and a small glass table. It looked over the whole garden and the rest of the land where the horses grazed.

The back porch held a small glass table and two chairs next to it. In the back yard a large garden was made from different kinds of flowers and surrounding it was a white fence with a gate in the very back of the yard. A large tree sat slightly in the left corner of it and underneath it was a bench. The other big tree closer to the house stood on the right side and held a swing on one thick branch. In the middle of the garden was a small pond with koi fish in it and lillies floated around on the surface. Throughout the back yard a small path snaked it's way around.

A rather tall and dark man walked into the quiet home and ushered in some ladies who happened to be the new maids. They got started on cleaning every room in the house starting with the bottom floor. The man looked around and ran his hand through his hair and looked around and neither saw nor heard any sign of the master being home. He wanted to let him know that he had arrived safelty and just in time to see the newest creation of his friend though it had already been made some years ago and he never got the chance to see it. Instead, he found a small note next to a vase of roses on a black stand and it read:

_I would hope that you'd find a room to your liking. I'm busy with some matters right now and wish to not be bothered for a time._

The dark man laughed a little. He knew this man all too well. He looked up at the stair and sighed and started his journey to the next floor. He found the nearest room possible and walked in to set his belongings where he thought suitable. Later on tomorrow he would go exploring this elegant estate. For now he laid on top of the bed and his body felt heavy against the mattress. He knew that once he felt this way that sleep was to overcome his sleep deprived body soon. He was right to think so because in just mere moments he fell asleep to the sound of a piano playing throughout the home. The man smiled and wondered if the whole forest could hear it's haunting melody too.

* * *

**YAYY! I posted another chapter yet again for this week. I'll be gone starting from today till Monday or Tuesday. I'll be in Broward visiting some family. I'm goign to bring that extra paper and pen though because I know along the way I'm going to have some ideas for the next chapter running through my head. Until then everyone!**


	12. This Cannot Be

**So, growing within the Phantom world make you realize a lot of things. For one, most of my story, I now realize, is based off of ALW's Phantom of the Opera. I can assure you all that my story is a mix of ALW and Leroux. This means, if I had not already said before, that the Phantom in my story has the full mask, not the half mask. For some reason I've grown to love the full one. Two: After reading most of Susan Kay's novel "Phantom," I now understand more of Erik's character and wish to further keep him that way. IN CHARACTER! Three: I've changed something else (please bear with me people) I would rather call the opera house by it's real name: the Opera Garnier. I know I have used Opera Populaire in the past but, I am really to lazy to re-read every chapter and change it all.**

**So I have made a remedy for my past mistakes and it will surely show up here in my story, finally! For some of my readers, who have been so patient with me, I want to inform you that the story is going to change a little. My character (OC) is not a Mary Sue and I REFUSE to turn her into one. Now that I actually know what a Mary Sue is, I can chage some things within the storyline as I go along. **

* * *

Getting to the Beaumont's library was no easy task nowadays. Letting the manager's know that Gemma would be taking leave for a few hours was futile to their daily schedules. She feared they would let her go if she kept this up. Her head was so full of questions and wonder that they could only be released by reading old newspapers and articles back when Christine had her first debut at the Opera Garnier.

She sat at the table, newspapers all around and books piled right next to her. Her head rested in her hand as she flipped through the pages of an old newspaper slowly and carefully. Her eyes stopped wandering over the words as she spotted, in bold letters, "Opera Garnier engulfed in flames!" She read the article below it with bewilderment and shocked horror.

_He cannot be alive!_ Gemma now started at the wall wrapped up her in own thoughts. _He's dead. He has to be dead. _Of all the stories Christine told her, she believed. But, the shadow which came to her that one night, she thought otherwise. The Opera Garnier had gone on fire and they even said in the article that they had gone down to the cellars to make sure that nobody was even down there. They were right. Nobody was seen underneath the opera house that night.

As Gemma put everything back in their designated places she thought of the fate she was to be given now. What was that shadow shaped as a man? It could not have been a ghost for ghosts do not take shape, nor do they wear clothes. Had she gone mad? Was she to tell soemone, maybe even Meg, of what she saw and then be placed in an asylum? No! She would not speak of this to anyone, not even Christine... But, maybe perhaps it was a trick. One of the stagehands or maybe...

Gemma narrowed her eyes at the thought of that wretched flirt, Leonard, playing tricks on her to win maybe even a smile or laugh from her. She rolled her eyes imagining him trying anything to win any woman's affections. Leonard was good at what he did though, reckless and ridiculous as it may seem. She knew she wasn't the only woman he had probably done this to.

She laughed at herself now and relaxed a bit more, clinging to the thought that it was Leonard just playing jokes on her and she was not mad. That she was not hallucinating and eventhing would go back to normal. But, what of the nights she spent singing for him? Perhaps that's why he had her go to the prayer room all the time. He couldn't know the way to her mirror like Christine's angel had. Whatever the case was, she would deal with it later the next time she had another lesson.

Before Peter could come up to her and keep her there longer than she had intended she walked out the door, waving goodbye to Mrs. Beaumont on her way out. The soft wind that rushed up against her face reminded her that winter was coming near and that hopefully, it would snow. She smiled at the memories of the soft and delicate snowflakes that would land upon her tounge as she played outside with the other children.

Lost in the memories that were keeping her warm as she walked back to the opera house she did not even notice the strange shadow lurking around her.

* * *

**Now onto the story review... **

**Sorry for the long wait and delay AND for this short chapter. It was kind of sudden and it was honestly intended to change the storyline (like I have already said before.) While this is still a romance, it won't be one of those soppy ones. You will notice as we go along that I can be a very gothic and, or, morbid writer. **

**Also, I have great news for you all. If I have not already told you guys, I have a deviant art account (.com/****) so if you want, go look for me there as well =) But, that's not what I wanted to tell you all... I am in the process of creating another Phanfic. This time I'm pairing up with someone else who is also a Phan. I'm sure our story will most likely be a lot better than the one I'm writing now. I mean, c'mon you've got two writer's who love POTO making a Phanfic together. We've created a joint account on DA (.com/) so if you have your own account you can add us there as well. I WILL be posting our story here on FF as well for those of you who do not have an account with DA. So no fear! =)**


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